 | CHAPTER XIII. The forsaken |  |
13. CHAPTER XIII.
An honest rogue, and hath a good conceit.
The Four Prentices of London.
“Was't not the way?
—Macbeth.
At this period, about five miles from Philadelphia,
beside the road leading to Lancaster, stood a small inn,
where whig or tory might bait, and have no questions
asked, for according to the philosophy of mine host, a
shilling hard money from a liege subject of king George,
was quite as harmless, and certainly much more tempting,
than the same amount in continental paper, from
the rough hand of the most devoted patriot of them all.
Mine host of the Crooked Billet was a jovial fellow, and
did honour to his calling, for his rosy gills plainly indicated that he had an aversion to idleness, and rather
than the bar should stand still, he frequently became his
own customer, merely for the sake of keeping his hand
in.
His figure was not unlike a hogshead standing on
end, being but little taller, and of nearly the same circumference.
He was a man of unconquerable good humour,
and though distinguished in his younger days for upholding
the dignity of his nature upon the slightest provocation,
yet he would coolly crack the head of his
the joke. On the other hand, whenever it was decreed
that he should be the sufferer, he still laughed and enjoyed
it, we will venture to say, as much as any man
ever enjoyed a drubbing.
His reputation for pugilistic accomplishments extended
far and wide, which at length acquired for him the
nickname of Nicholas the Bruiser. Nicholas had
laboured in his vocation at the Billet for some years,
without appearing to get one step forward on the road
to prosperity. He remained stationary, for it was impossible
to make a retrograde movement, without getting
to the very chin in the mire. The reason assigned
by his enemies for this unpromising condition, was the
selfish practice already mentioned, of patronizing his
own bar; but notwithstanding this, matters of late had
assumed a more cheerful aspect. The tap-room was
better furnished, the liquors of a better quality, and the
old drab suit, which had become as familiar to his body
as the skin that covered it, had given place to a complete
suit of brown, of a more recent fashion. All this
moved the special wonder of the neighbours of Boniface;
for as business had not increased, they could not
account for his prosperity, and he did not evince any
disposition to be very communicative on the subject.
The evening to which we have brought our narrative,
the bar-room of the Crooked Billet was occupied
by the gossips of the neighbourhood, listening to the
exploits of corporal Drone, who, according to his own
account, had won more pitched battles than Julius
Cæsar, and possessed a much greater share of patriotism
than Regulus of old. Having enlarged upon the
charms of a soldier's life, and his own merits in particular,
he threw himself back in his chair, crossed his
legs, and lustily trolled out the following song:—
To fight the proud invading foe;
Over the hills and far away.
Will take his gun and follow me,
Though sneaking cowards skulk at home,
While we in quest of glory roam.
Over the waters wide and deep,
We'l1 drive the foe without delay,
Over the hills and far away.
Adorn'd with laurels and with scars,
Let beauty be the soldier's prize
Who dreads no wounds but from her eyes.
And drink to each true patriot soul,
Who rushes to the deadly fray
Over the hills and far away.
During the corporal's song, two soldiers dismounted
at the door and entered the room. Drone paid no attention
to the new comers, but had no sooner finished
than he resumed his narrative at the place of breaking
off. He had the floor, and felt disposed to keep it.
Those who have been in congress will comprehend the
feelings by which he was actuated.
"As I was saying, Nicholas, at Chad's Ford, I performed
such deeds as make my hair stand an end but
to think of. Six of Knyphausen's men attacked me at
the same time. Their whiskers alone were enough to
give a man a panic, and they smelt of garlic to such a
degree"--here the corporal made a long and expressive
whistle--"that it was death to breathe the same atmosphere.
Pestilence was abroad. Yet these did I
encounter alone, and conquer."
"Whiskers and garlic and all," said Nicholas.
"Ay, pestilence, and the seven deadly sins."
The corporal took a long whiff through the fragment
of his pipe, filling his lungs with smoke, which he slowly
puffed out at the corner of his mouth, with an air that
impressed the company with a proper idea of his importance.
“The corporal draws a long bow,” said one of the
officers to the other.
“A long bow, sir? He may draw a long sword when
he thinks proper, but he has no bow, that I see,” replied
the single-minded Mauns.
“Ah! captain Swain, is that you?” exclaimed the
corporal. “You see me here taking my ease, for a
soldier must have his hours of relaxation, or he would
sink beneath the toils he is obliged to undergo.”
“And you, corporal, sometimes sink beneath your
relaxation,” replied Nicholas, dryly, shaking his fat
sides. The laugh was against the corporal, who gravely
answered, that Nicholas was a wag, and would have
his joke, though at the expense of his friends.
“It will not cost a great deal, corporal, if you pay
for it,” replied Nicholas, and his suppressed laugh was
changed to a convulsive chuckle.
“Nicholas, you are a wag,” repeated the corporal.
“Zounds, I would rather sustain a charge from a platoon
of infantry, than one from Nicholas.”
“Would you?” retorted mine host, “then hereafter
you shall pay cash for every dram you touch at my
bar, for I also have become tired of charging.”
They all laughed but honest Mauns, who understood
a pun about as well as he did Hebrew.
“A fair hit,” replied Drone, forcing a grin, “but
your charging is not quite as serious as that of the enemy.
Look at my rifle-shirt! It bears more honourable
marks than the buckler of Hector.”
“And your breeches,” replied Nicholas, still chuckling,
“must also be highly prized by the same rule.”
“Yes,” exclaimed Drone, “this ugly rent is some
of the work of old Hornflint, on the night of that savage
christian warfare. See, here's another; but this I shall
never stitch up, for I received it in saving the life of
mad Anthony on that bloody night. I shall never forget
that wound.”
“I dare say; nor farmer Giles' hen-roost,” replied
Nicholas, dryly.
“Ha! what do you mean?” demanded the other,
scarcely able to put a good face upon so severe a rebuff.
“The farmer's dog Towser can better explain,” replied
mine host.
The corporal was familiar with Nicholas's mode of
adjusting disputes, and therefore thought it prudent to
reply complacently—
“Nicholas, you are a wag, and must have your joke;
but you may laugh at my expense as long as I drink at
yours. So fill up the mug, and let us have a roundelay.”
“A song, a song,” cried several voices at the same
time.
“Silence! zounds, cann't you be silent?” cried the
corporal, in a tone of authority. “No excuse, Nicholas,
but begin.”
Silence being thus enforced, the landlord cleared his
throat and commenced. In order to render the concord
of sweet sounds more melodious, he called in the assistance
of his nose, which produced a monotonous
drone, that run through the whole song, like the note
of the bass-pipe of an organ.
While the laurel greenly grows,
And fancy there is true delight
In marching barefoot through the snows:
But faith, I must confess with me
That this would not at all agree.
The tory proud may curse the cause,
And say the rebels all should swing;
And brave the gallows for his king:
But faith, I must confess with me
That this would not at all agree.
So I with tories curse the whigs,
And make my way with Flemish stories;
And while the buckskin soldier swigs,
I know my cue, and curse the tories:
For since I keep a bar, you see
'Tis better with all sides t' agree.
“A damned Jesuitical song,” exclaimed the corporal,
“and only fit for the ears of such as cut their cloth
according to friend Ephraim's fashion.”
“For a profane song,” replied Ephraim, who was of
the company, “I am disposed to think favourably of it,
as it inculcates the principle of good fellowship with all
mankind. Yea, verily, it pleaseth me.”
“True, you are for the lion lying down with the
lamb,” continued the corporal. “But pray, friend
Ephraim, what is it brings you abroad at this hour?”
“I am on my way to my own threshold,” replied
Ephraim.
“Are you alone?”
“Quite alone,” replied Ephraim.
“Then you have soon got rid of your company,”
continued the corporal, “for it was but yesterday that
I saw you with half a dozen head of as fine cattle, on
your way to the city, as ever were turned out of our
meadows.”
“Business must be attended to,” was the laconic
reply of Ephraim.
Corwin the maniac now entered, without hat or shoes,
and his long matted hair hanging over his countenance.
He slowly approached the group, and cast a vacant
stare upon all around.
“Here comes old Pilgrim's Progress,” exclaimed
Drone. “Well, Waterbrain, which way lies your course
at this time of night?”
“Towards the moon,” replied the other, “in search
of my poor wits.”
“Then tarry where you are, for, faith, they are not
worth the journey. But how do you travel, pray?”
“By water, by water.”
“Show us your chart, man; what stream is it flows
in that direction?”
“The ocean of tears,” replied the maniac, “and I
have shed sufficient to insure me a safe passage. There
is no danger of shoals, hurricane, or shipwreck.”
“And at best the loss of your cargo would not make
you bankrupt. But how go the wars?”
“Bloodily!” answered the maniac, still standing in
the same position, and with a countenance devoid of
expression. “Bloodily; now is the eagle and the
raven's carnival; they have their choice of carcasses.”
“As you are a sage politician, which party do you
side with; whig or tory?”
“The right side, of course,” replied Corwin; “he is
a fool or a madman, who is not on the right side. Yes,
yes, you should ever be on the right side in these matters,
or keep thy own counsel.”
“A sensible remark that for Waterbrain,” exclaimed
the corporal. “But which is the right side, pray?”
“That which is not the wrong,” said the other, his
countenance still immoveable.
“God help thy wits!”
“Amen!” ejaculated Corwin, “and mend our ways
and apparel too, for the winter is approaching.”
“A timely petition; why don't you respond?” said
Nicholas to the corporal.
“I shall repair my wardrobe,” answered Drone, “in
the field of battle, and fight the next enemy I meet, for
his covering.”
“Your chilblains will be in a flourishing condition
before spring,” replied Nicholas.
Horses were heard to stop at the door, and immediately
afterwards Paul Gordon and Jurian entered.
“Welcome, Mr. Fairfield,” said Nicholas, “I am
glad to see that you cannot pass this way without stopping
to bait, and pay a friendly visit.”
“I am not one of those who forget good treatment
as soon as it is over. So give us a glass of such stuff,
Nicholas, as requires no bush.”
Paul stood leaning against the bar, and Nicholas went
behind it to wait upon him. Jurian drew nigh the company,
and on perceiving captain Swain, sat down beside
him, and they entered into conversation. An interesting
topic occupied the rest of the group.
“The times are truly dangerous,” said Ephraim, “for
what with the foraging of the contending armies, and
the depredations committed by that marauder Paul Gordon,
it is as much as an honest man can do to live, for
neither life nor property is safe for twenty-four hours
together.”
“That's very true, neighbour Horn; they manage
between them to take cabbage enough from us,” said
one, who by his thimble and thread appeared to be a
tailor.
“Still, Paul Gordon, with all his faults, is not without
his good points,” replied another, whose leathern apron
and smutty countenance denoted his calling.
“Then he must be ashamed of them,” said the corporal,
“for he keeps them so closely concealed, that
the devil himself will not be able to find them.”
“And he will never go to the trouble of a search,”
added the smith, “so Paul is not likely to have justice
done him.”
“Nor does he wish it,” exclaimed the tailor, “for he
knows he deserves a halter more richly than any thing
else.”
“For shame, neighbour,” exclaimed Paul, who had
overheard their conversation, “is this your gratitude?”
“Gratitude for what, stranger?” demanded the tailor.
“Have you so soon forgotten his bounty to your
wife?”
“A plague on him and his bounty!” exclaimed the
tailor, in a tone that betrayed that the subject was by
no means an agreeable one.
“Scarcely a month ago, neighbours,” continued
Paul, “this man's wife was going to market, and was
overtaken by Paul, who, on entering into conversation
with her, found her full of alarm lest she should be
stopped and plundered. He quieted her fears, and like
a true gentleman protected her to the skirts of the city.”
“Is this so, neighbour Snip?” demanded the smith.
“I cannot gainsay it,” replied the tailor.
“But that is not all, gentlemen,” continued Gordon,
“on parting with her, he bestowed a purse of hard
money to make her comfortable, and now you hear how
this ungrateful man rates him for his generosity.”
“Damn his generosity!” squeaked the tailor, waxing
wroth at the recollection.
“But can you deny the fact?” demanded Paul.
“No,” exclaimed the other, “but did he not, after
she had sold her marketing, plunder her of the amount,
and the purse too, as she was returning home? Answer
me that.”
“So the story goes,” replied Paul, “but that must
have been when his evil genius prevailed. The best
of us are not at all times ourselves, you know.”
Ephraim, during the foregoing dialogue, kept eying
Paul in evident trepidation. He shifted his position,
until he succeeded in getting the whole company between
him and the object of his terror. The quick eye
of Paul followed him wherever he moved, and even
while he was bantering the tailor, Ephraim perceived
that his eye was still upon him. He however remained
silent, perhaps still entertaining some doubts as to the
identity of the individual, and recollecting the unfavourable
result of the accusation at the Hive, when he was
equally certain.
“This bugbear,” said the corporal, who had been
smoking his pipe for some time in silence, “is as arrant
before he is a week older. Little Ephraim here
has offered a reward for his apprehension.”
“I have offered no reward of the kind,” replied
Ephraim, his trepidation increasing, “I disclaim it.”
“You shackling little apology for a man,” cried the
corporal, “will you attempt to pick my pocket in this
barefaced manner?”
“I disclaim the reward,” repeated Ephraim, “I disclaim
the reward.”
“Nay, friend Horn, your memory must fail you,”
replied Paul, “I have one of your handbills in my
pocket now, and will give it to Nicholas to stick against
his bar.”
He coolly handed the paper to the landlord, which
tended to multiply the doubts and fears of little Ephraim.
“So that being settled,” continued the corporal,
“bear in mind that I hold you to the bargain. This
Paul Gordon, as I was saying, is but an arrant coward
at best. About a month ago, he waylaid me on the
Westchester road, but if I did not give him cogent reasons
for never attempting a similar experiment, my
name is not corporal Drone.”
“A very good story,” cried Nicholas, “but why did
he attack you since he might have robbed a gibbet to
more profit, and with perfect safety.”
The corporal sat more erect, and frowned, hoping
that an important air would be considered an answer to
the impertinent question.
“Explain, corporal, explain,” continued the persevering
Nicholas, “for really it is a point that puzzles
me.”
“You are no military man, master Nicholas,” replied
Drone, gravely; at the same time casting a gracious
smile upon the company, which was intended to
convey a vast deal more than it actually did.—“You
are no military man, master Nicholas.”
“True,” replied mine host, “but what is that to the
merely for the sake of the halter? Unriddle, corporal,
unriddle.”
“You may have heard of such a thing as fame!”
This speech was accompanied by a look as full of
meaning as the first.
“O! I comprehend you now,” replied Nicholas,
chuckling. “He would establish his reputation at one
blow, by reaping the harvest of your valour.”
“Precisely so,” responded the corporal, with great
solemnity.
Captain Swain and Jurian were engaged in conversation,
and paid little attention to the foregoing. Mauns
Talman's mind appeared to be absorbed by the hilt of
his sword, with which he had been playing for some
time, and the vacant look of Corwin, who sat near them,
indicated that his thoughts were distant. His attention
was at length awakened by some remark, and his eyes
rested upon the prominent figure of Paul as he stood
at the bar. They brightened with a gleam of recognition,
and he muttered to himself, “Paul Gordon.”
“What is that you say, Waterbrain,” demanded the
corporal.
“The marauder stands before you,” replied Corwin,
rising, and pointing at the bar. “Behold Paul Gordon.”
The effect of this intelligence was electrical upon the
company. Several sprang to their feet, others remained
motionless, while Drone and Ephraim could scarcely
keep their seats for shaking. Captain Swain drew his
sword and rushed forward, Mauns by his side. Gordon
drew a pistol from his belt, and presented it—
“Not one step nearer, captain Swain, or you die.”
The soldiers paused, and Drone and Ephraim shook as
though they had been touched by the palsy, for the weapon
was pointed towards them. “And now, sir,” continued
Paul, “I drink to our better acquaintance,”
saying which, he swallowed the remainder of his drink.
“By the memory of Sven,” cried the captain, “he
shall not carry it thus. The wolf is in the toils; secure
the door, Mauns, and I will have him in spite of his
popgun.”
The sergeant moved towards the door, and Jurian
took his place beside the captain. Nicholas was still
behind the bar, and was seen speaking through a small
window that opened into an adjoining room.
“You too, Mr. Hartfield!” exclaimed Paul. “Is
this your faith? Remember what brought me here.”
The point of Jurian's sword fell, but he kept his position.
“Lay down your pistols and surrender,” cried the
captain.
“If you were not so grave a man, captain, I would
swear you were jesting,” replied Paul.
“Then have at you. Look to the door, Talman.”
“Not one step further, I say, unless you wish to try
your digestive powers upon cold lead.”
“Frighten children with your popgun,” cried the
captain, and advanced to the attack. The next instant
the room resounded with the report of the pistol, but
it failed to take effect, as Jurian sprang forward and
struck it to the floor.
“Remember,” cried Paul, “what brought me here.”
He drew a short heavy sword, and stood upon the defensive.
It seemed as a feather in his sinewy grasp.
Jurian was doubtful what part to take, while the old
captain and Mauns joined in the attack. Paul parried
their blows with the skill of an experienced swordsman,
his gigantic strength and activity imparting confidence.
All was confusion. The only cool spectator
was Nicholas, who, with his arms folded, leaned upon
the edge of his bar, and watched every stroke with the
feelings of an amateur. A light stood near him. The
contest continued with unabated determination, when
Nicholas slily shoved the light from its stand, and it fell
to the floor. A moment after, the only remaining light,
The combatants were enveloped in darkness, and the
clash of weapons ceased.
“Look to the door, Talman, look to the door,” cried
the captain, “and let no one pass.”
“Who the devil put out the lights?” demanded Nicholas.
“No matter for that now. Fetch others and lose
no time,” replied the captain.
“But I want to know who it was put out the lights,”
repeated the pertinacious landlord.
“Bring others, and quickly, or by the memory of
Sven, I will put out your light also.”
“You shall be obeyed, captain, but still I should like
to know who dared to take such a liberty in my house.”
Nicholas tapped at the little window already mentioned,
and called for a candle. Some time elapsed,
and the order not being obeyed, the captain gave additional
symptoms of his impatience.
“Bestir yourself, bestir yourself there,” cried Nicholas,
“for we are all in the dark.”
“You cann't have it before it's lit,” replied a shrill
voice from the inner apartment.
The light was finally produced. The captain was
discovered in the centre of the room, Talman was standing
by the door, which was closed, but Paul had either
disappeared, or assumed the shape of a lad of about
thirteen who stood beside Talman. He was barefooted,
shaggy as a colt, and was dressed in the cast-off small-clothes
of Nicholas, already mentioned. These formed
pantaloons for the lad without any alteration, but in consequence
of their latitudinal dimensions, it required the
constant aid of his left hand to keep them in their proper
position. He was a perfect miniature of Nicholas,
without the aid of the long-remembered drabs. The
boy remained stationary until his father called upon him
to light the candles. The captain searched diligently,
but in vain, for Gordon. The last place he searched
and Ephraim lying together as the lion and the
lamb. Drone arose, and drawing his rusty sword, ran
towards the door, crying out—
“Which way did the coward go?”
“He didn't go this way,” replied honest Mauns.
“Pursue, pursue!” continued the corporal; “give
me a horse, and I will soon have him back again, neck
and heels.”
“You are certainly a fine fellow, corporal,” said the
smith, laughing; “but unluckily there is one great defect
in your composition.”
“And what is that, thou lusty son of Vulcan?” demanded
Drone, still flourishing his sword; “what is
that?”
“Your courage,” replied the smith, “does not make
its appearance till your antagonist is out of sight. But
for this defect you would be a very clever soldier, indeed.”
The corporal knit his brows and retired in silence.
The means by which Paul had escaped, remained a
mystery, for honest Mauns protested that he had not
passed the door. Captain Swain having searched in
vain for him, was about to leave the inn, when the corporal
called to him, and desired to be reported at head
quarters, as he should certainly be in camp before he
was a day older. The captain smiled, while Nicholas
and the smith laughed lustily.
“And you, my son,” said the captain to Jurian, “will
you not return with us to the camp to-night?”
“Not to-night, sir,” replied Jurian.
“We are on our way thither, and should be glad of
your company.”
“Overlook my absence for a few hours, sir; I shall
not trespass long upon your indulgence. But to-night,
I have that in view which nothing earthly can divert me
from.”
“Pursue your own course, my son, but remember
second thought.”
“Yours, sir, should always be remembered, and especially
by me. But to-night it is impossible—you must
excuse me for this night.”
Captain Swain left the room with Talman, and a few
moments after, Corwin followed them. They had not
proceeded more than a quarter of a mile from the inn,
when they halted beneath the cover of a wood until
Corwin came up to them.
“Well, Corwin,” demanded the captain, “how do
matters go on in our moral city since the red-coats have
quartered themselves in it?”
The British army made its triumphal entry into Philadelphia
on the 26th of September, and was escorted
by numbers, who, in after-life, became the loudest declaimers
against British tyranny. Your true politician
will ever be on the strong side, and there is nothing
that he can so readily change as his opinions.
“Even as with the revellers of Babylon,” replied
Corwin. “They drink wine, and praise the gods of
gold and of silver, of brass, of iron, of wood, and of
stone. But the craft of the Gibeonite shall not avail
him, for he shall be taken in his own craftiness.”
“Have you any thing to communicate of importance?”
demanded the captain.
Corwin made known such matters in relation to the
enemy, as he had picked up in his wanderings. Among
other intelligence, he stated that the force by which the
city was invested consisted of four battalions of grenadiers,
under the command of lord Cornwallis, and that
the main body was still encamped at Germantown.
They separated, and the soldiers shaped their course
towards the American army, at that time encamped at
Skippach creek.
| CHAPTER XIII. The forsaken | |